


Red as Blood and Twice as Bitter

by DraketheDragon



Series: Blackcat Stories [2]
Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Blackcat is not a nice person, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Dark, Gen, Happy Ending, Old Gods, Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, how the murder monster became a fed, ish, takes place between book one and book two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraketheDragon/pseuds/DraketheDragon
Summary: "'You are Private Investigator Samantha Blackcat?' There was an odd quality to his voice, like he was afraid but didn’t know why. Inwardly, I winced when he said my name, my Cat had taken me over for the brief period of time it took for me to make this identity. She thought the name was funny. I thought it was too obvious.'Depends on who is asking.' I didn’t open the door any further, and I stared at him with my utterly inhuman eyes. This wolf struck me as the type to ignore his fear while still letting it control him. That type was always fun to needle.'I’m Agent Devan Thorsten from the FBI. I’m here to ask you a few questions.'"
Series: Blackcat Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592266
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Red as Blood and Twice as Bitter

It was a piss poor night, the rain pounded down on the roof like it was trying to beat its way in. In some places it did manage, dripping with soft plops onto the puddles collecting on the floor. There were cracks in the walls and under the door, and the wind found these gaps and rushed inside, howling across the contours of the room. From outside came beeps and honks from the constant traffic, each as loud as gunshots. It took all my effort not to rush outside and slaughter everyone, to paint the city red with blood. Perhaps then I could get some peace and quiet.

_ Why don’t you do it?  _ Whispered the Other in the back of my mind. It was a testament to my anger that it was speaking even when there was only two days from a new moon.  _ It would take but a moment, and it would taste so good too. Imagine all those hearts, all those- _

**Shut up. Someone’s coming. Can’t you hear?**

I hadn’t heard because I’d been listening to the Other. I shook my head, and looked up at the ceiling, tilted my seat as far back as it would go, stuck my feet on my desk, and listened. The rain, the wind, the cars, the whoosh of breath and the heartbeats of the people in them, a toddlers cry, a dog in the alley two buildings down, the hum of electric lights in my neighbor's house, mice in the walls, birds in the attic, and three blocks down footsteps. Not the rushed footsteps of someone trying to escape the downpour, but methodical ones, ones with a purpose. Quieter than a humans would be, heavier than a vampires, nothing other in the sound that suggested fae.

Werewolf.

My lips pulled back and I hissed softly through teeth suddenly sharp and jagged. I wasn’t sure who it was that initiated the motion. None of us liked werewolves that much, well except for the Other, but it disliked the fact that we refused to let it play with them. So it was basically the same thing.

You sure it’s coming for us?

**Positive.** I didn’t argue with her, she tended to be good at things like that.

_ Good, we can kill him slowly, rip him apart little by little. Eat his heart while he’s still watching, then rip out his eyes and pop them. Break his ribs one by one. It will be fun. _

**You’re awfully talkative.**

_ That’s because only one is fighting. Our Human has gone and given up struggling for the day. Perhaps I’ll escape and feed.  _ It laughed, and I closed my eyes and sighed.

The footsteps continued up the street, the rain continued to pound, the wind continued to howl. It was too much noise, too much chaos, perhaps the Other was right and I should just kill them all. I’d been thinking like that more and more for a while now, it had been a bad couple of days. I’d woken up coated in blood last week, the Other’s not-so subtle reminder that he was still there and still powerful, even if we two were also powerful. I had no fear anyone would catch it. One thing the Other did remember to do was cover its tracks. It wanted to continue killing, not get caught. Besides what was one more murder in a city? No matter how bloody the mess, there was always someone else. It took doing something really impressive to get people’s attention. It was the reason I lived in this festering hole in the first place.

The footsteps stopped at my doorway. The doorbell rang, loud, too loud. I decided to stop breathing for a minute or two. I could do that until I blacked out, and it came in handy evading people I didn’t want to notice me. The place was dark, the windows boarded up, and with no sound of someone inside it should look and sound like it was abandoned. The doorbell rang again. And then again. Finally, the werewolf pounded on the door. “This is the FBI! Open up!”

Fuck.

_ A werewolf and FBI agent. How delightful. I want to kill him so badly now. String up his dead body in a public place by his intestines and watch the police swarm. Take a few of them too. Break them. _

No.

_ Let me taste a finger at least. He won’t need it, it will just grow back. _

**What the hell did you do!**

I released my breath with a sharp sound, swung myself out of the chair, and padded over to the door. I undid the multiple chains and bolts and opened the door a crack and peaked out. The werewolf was standing at my door, he was my height, solidly built, blond hair, blue eyes, very norse looking. There was a third thing I could check off my dislike list. “What do you want?” I rasped, and he started slightly at the sound of my voice.

“You are Private Investigator Samantha Blackcat?” There was an odd quality to his voice, like he was afraid but didn’t know why. Inwardly, I winced when he said my name, my Cat had taken me over for the brief period of time it took for me to make this identity. She thought the name was funny. I thought it was too obvious.

“Depends on who is asking.” I didn’t open the door any further, and I stared at him with my utterly inhuman eyes. This wolf struck me as the type to ignore his fear while still letting it control him. That type was always fun to needle.

“I’m Agent Devan Thorsten from the FBI. I’m here to ask you a few questions.” There was a muscle in his cheek that was twitching. His heart was starting to beat a little bit faster, pounding out prey, prey, prey against his rib-cage.

“About what.” The Other wasn’t laughing, so I decided that this visit couldn’t be about whatever it had done last week.

“About a case you accepted recently. The witch child with red hair that went missing.” He was stiff now, forcing himself not to run while trying to be as imposing as possible. I wondered if he was listening to his wolf as it cried out for him to run, to run fast and far. But if he ran I would catch him and rip him to little bitty pieces, I would crack his ribs and listen to them snap like sticks.

I looked past him, into the street with its cars and traffic and driving sheets of rain. If I looked at him I would kill him, I would paint the ground red with his blood, and I would laugh as I killed anyone who tried to help him, who tried to stop me. “Why?”

He shifted, like he wanted to take a step back, he growled low and deep in his throat. “Because the police are at an impasse, and my boss has heard of your little charade here and thinks you can help us.” How funny, he thought my job was a charade. A game. Hire me to find your children and kill the kidnapper. Don’t worry, it will be fun.

His boss was stupid. This werewolf was stupid for coming here. I opened the door wider, stepped aside, flipped the lights on, heard them hum. “Come in.” I would kill him, it had been a while since I’d tasted wolf flesh, wolf blood. I would kill him slowly and break him and watch him scream and laugh as he did so.

Pain in my arm. I looked down, my fingers were gripped my arm tightly. Pinpricks of pain as claws broke in.  **Focus,** whispered my other. 

He was walking by me now. Into my den against all logic and common sense. His wolf must be frantic now, screaming at him to leave, trying so hard to take control, to make him turn around and bolt for the exit. But he was ignoring him, so stupid, walking in like a lamb to the slaughter. He smelled of wolf. Soon he would smell of blood. The pain in my arm increased. My thoughts fractured. 

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

_ You can. You will. You want too. _

**Let me.**

I did. For the briefest second we were one, then I was in control and my Human fleeing to the back of our head. It was easier this way. I allowed my wounds to heal, closed the door. I was worried, but didn’t let it show. The Other should not have been this strong this close to the new moon. My Human was losing heart, the years were taking their toll. We would have to retreat soon, though to were I did not know. There were not many places left where a monster could disappear for a long time.

The werewolf was standing in the middle of my office, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, the puddles on the floor, the gaps in the walls. The only place that looked serviceable was the desk, the two chairs, and the wall with the cork board behind it. The pictures were hidden by the lights glare. I knew them well. A girl with red hair and a softball bat. The boyfriend. The school. The family. All had been dead ends, nothing but distractions, although the boy had given a little bit of curious information before I left him shaking in terror. 

I brushed past him, sat down in the chair and stared. “So what do you want to know?” I knew only a few things. The family was a witch family. They could not track her. They had paid me to find her and kill the killer. She was not the only red-headed witch girl to have disappeared. The case was at a standstill. It was not the boyfriend, the family, or anyone at the school. The boyfriend knew nothing of the fire the girl had been playing with. But he’d known a name. Aíma.

He stayed standing in the middle of the room, staring down at me while trying to be imposing. It was hard not to laugh in his face. He was not scary, he did not know the meaning of the word. “Not much.” He said, “She just disappeared into thin air.”

“You think it was fae?” I said it noncommittally. It wasn’t fae. I knew that much.

He shifted. “I don’t know what to think.”

“It wasn’t fae.” I said, “I was about to visit a contact in the city who has fingers in every pie. She might be able to tell me something.” She might be able to tell me a lot.

“Who's your contact?” His eyes were narrowed, he’d noticed mine had changed. His heart beat a little bit faster. Prey. Prey. Prey.

“Her name’s Bloody Mary.” I inspected my fingernails. They were too long, too dark, too curved, too sharp.

“Bloody Mary. You mean the legend?” He didn’t believe me, I didn’t care.

“I mean the vampire.” I didn’t look at him, continued to inspect my nails.

He scoffed. “There is no vampire in this city named Bloody Mary.”

“If you say so.” There wasn’t, Bloody Mary wasn’t her real name, just what she used to scare people. “Are the police officially hiring me to investigate?”

His teeth were gritted, the whites of his eyes gleamed. Prey. Prey. Prey. “Yes.”

I pulled out a notebook and pen from the desk. Set them on the wood, pushed them towards the werewolf. “Write the name and number of your employer, I’ll call him when I’ve found the girl.” There was no hope of finding the others, they were already dead. I didn’t need to speak to their ghosts to know that this was true. 

The werewolf took the notebook and pen, his fingers were shaking. I tried very hard not to grin. He set them down again. “Pleasure doing business with you,” I purred, “You may see yourself out.”

He started as he realized that yes, he had not, in fact, been in control of the situation. This was my territory, he was only an intruder. He met my eyes, froze, tried to keep them there, stumbled back and looked away. Prey. Prey. Prey. He turned and left, not fast enough to be a run, but not slow enough to be a jog. I leaned forward just slightly, watched him go. It would only take a second. With a sigh I leaned back and shook my head. It wasn’t just my Human that was slipping, it was me as well, the Other was just taking advantage of us. 

The door slammed shut as the werewolf left. I grabbed the notebook, pulled it towards me. The name was Bob Smith. Ordinary, too ordinary. The number was unimpressive. I stood up, stretched, made my way to the door. Bloody Mary awaited. But first, the library.

  
  


The door in front of me was painted black. The walls of the house were brick red. There were flowers in the windowsill, pink ones, white ones. It was a mishmash of designs, a Frankenstein house. I rapped on the door, the wood had been polished sometime in the past few days, my reflection gazed at me impassively. I turned my face to examine the scar that now crossed it, the one that pulled my mouth into a sneer and gave others a glimpse of my teeth. Ten years and it had not disappeared. This one would be one of the few that lasted through the centuries. I might even keep it forever.

The Other liked it because it scared people. My Human was indifferent, she didn’t care much about her scars. I did. This one made us more noticeable, easier to pick out. There were not many who had scars like that. I didn’t want a scar so obvious as this if I was going to have to deal with the feds.

The door opened, a man stood their. He was too thin, eyes swallowed by dark rings, skin practically transparent. He looked like I could snap his neck in an instant. “Go away.” His voice cracked as he spoke, he swayed where he stood, too weak, too fragile. She hadn’t been taking good care of her sheep.

“I’m here to see Bloody Mary.” I didn’t move.

He stared at me. “She’s sleeping.”

The sun was rising. It had taken me longer than expected to find the information I needed. “No she’s not.” I reached out, pushed him aside, walked in and shut the door behind me. He clawed at my arm, mewling at me, but I ignored him. The Other would have killed him. My Human would have at least knocked him out. I dragged him along beside me as I walked towards the living room. “Anne, it’s me. Get out here.” The sounds of five people breathing, their hearts beating, but slowly, so slowly. She’d never kept a large menagree.

Nothing happened. I snapped the man’s neck. There was a sharp crack, the house went silent. Even the breathing and the beating stopped for a moment before resuming. I shook him off me, barely regretting the action. I should have regretted it more. In the beginning, I would have regretted it. I was a predator, not murderer. “Come out Anne, or I’ll eat him and make sure you can’t turn him. You know I would.”

“That was unnecessary.” A child’s voice, “I was getting us drinks.” 

Like hell she’d been. I didn’t turn to look at her as she walked in. She was utterly silent, the only one I knew who could do that. There was no spell work or bribery or tricks like I used, just skill honed by ages and ages of undeath. She walked around me and her dead sheep and passed me a glass. It could have been wine, it could have been blood.

I looked at her calmly, memorizing her for the last time. She was small, thin, looked to be about ten. Her black hair was short and curled around her face in wisps, her eyes were large and the color of rubies, her lips were stained red with her drink, her white dress was similarly stained red. She smiled, her eye teeth were very sharp. “What do you want?”

I took a sip of the drink, it was blood, but bitter, too bitter. I swirled it around and watched it glitter. She knew part of what I was. I knew what she was. No matter the age or skill, a vampire was always a vampire. “Information of course. What else?”

“Information about what?” She drained her glass. I took a sip. Yep, definitely a witch's blood. I wondered when she’d become so careless. I might have left this place without killing her if she had served anything but this.

“About an Aíma.” She didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t move.

“Never heard of her.”

“It means blood in Greek.” It was a shame really, I’d liked her, as much as I liked anyone.

“So?”

“Why did you serve me the blood of a witch?”

“An experiment.”

“Perhaps it would have worked better if I hadn’t already known what that families blood tasted like. Why red hair?”

“I like red.” She looked down at her dead sheep, looked up at me. Her eyes were cold, calculating, just like always. “Anyway I could persuade you?”

I dropped the cup, watched the glass shatter, watched the blood spill. “No. I’m getting paid double.” And I needed this fight. Needed this kill. We all did. I moved. She caught my hand centimeters from her throat.

“How did you know?”

“The blood and the boyfriend.”

She moved, I twisted, but her grip on my hand was too strong to break. Her reach was still too short, her fingers whistled past my throat. I body slammed her. She went flying, she hit the wall hard enough to send cracks spiderwebing across its surface. I moved forward, something grabbed my leg. The sheep, eyes growing red. This time I ripped off his head. This time he turned to ash. A blur of movement, and this time I was not fast enough. Her fingers clawed through my throat and down into my shoulder, gouging out flesh. There was an odd sound has my breath whistled through my ruined windpipe. She pulled back as my blood sprayed, licking her fingers and laughing. Her eyes were dancing.

So was ours. 

In an instant our throat and shoulder healed, in an instant their was nothing but a scar, in an instant we were upon her. She struggled. We broke her bones. First her arms, then her legs. Bones always took longer to heal, but hers were snapping together at speed. From my blood or from the witch’s blood I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. “Reaper” she hissed, her eyes were glowing, she licked her lips. We pressed our claws to her chest and pulled it open till flesh parted and ribs cracked and her still, dead heart was there for me to see. She fought. Claws on my back and legs and arms, four, no five including hers, pairs, frantic, we ignored them and ripped out her heart. We only managed a mouthful before it turned to ash and the vampire with it. Sometime in the instant of our fight the last four sheep had arrived. They went crazy, one by one we ripped of their heads. They turned to ash too. Not quite sheep, not quite vampires. Anne had always been good at keeping them in that state. We looked up, the room was painted with blood, the Other laughed. 

Son of a bitch. It snuck up on me. It shouldn’t have been able to do that.

_ Actually no, that was all you and the Human. _

**I think it was all three of us.**

I sighed. My claws shrunk, my teeth turned blunt, my wounds sealed. I tugged on my braid, and then followed the sound of the last weak heartbeat. In the basement I found the witch, chained up and half starved and half drained of blood. Her hair was a flame in the gloom. Near her was the bodies of three other girls. 

She was half dead, easy prey, so so easy. All I would do is take a few steps in and then snap her neck. Rip it open, watch the blood spill. I took a breath, closed my eyes. It was not just the Other or my Human, it was me too. We were all teetering on the edge, just waiting for something to push us off. But we couldn’t, we had to not fall off, this world could not handle what would happen if we gave up. It would push it into a war.

_ That would be fun. _

Which was why I would not allow it.

“Hey, you awake?”

She looked up, so scared she could hardly breathe. She took me in, the blood, the scars. “Who are you?”

“I’m Private Investigator Samantha Blackcat. Your parents hired me to find you.”

She froze. “There’s a-”

“Dead. All of them, let’s get you home.”

  
  


The next night there was a knock at the door. The sun was setting, it turned the sky orange, and light leaked through my boarded windows and spilled on the floor, turning parts of it gold and sending the rest deeper into shadow. Today was not the night of the new moon, that would happen tomorrow, but it was close enough. No more yesterdays. I would shift, go for a run, remind both me and my Human that we are not the monster the Other tries so hard to make us into. Not yet at least.

This close to the moon it is silent. I am too strong, even with my Human’s and my own befuddled state. The witch girl was saved, the kidnapper was killed, we’d gotten our money. Most of our money. We walked over, opened the door.

The man calling himself Bob Smith stood there. He was average height, solid, bald, with dark skin and dark eyes. But only in this world, on another, he was something completely different. I crossed my arms, watched him, “You could have wired the money to my bank account.”

“I could have,” he acknowledged, “but then I would not have met you. I have something to chat about with you, Tezcatlipoca, one god to another.”

I frowned, but let him in. “That was never me.”

“Only because you refused the title.”

“What do you want?” I leaned against the door, ready to fight or flee, I wasn’t sure. The Other was silent, so was my Human. I was alone against a god. I wanted to fight him, to kill him, but I was afraid this was a battle I would not be able to end it. I wasn’t sure he could either.

He inspected the room, set the briefcase on the table. “To offer you a job. Trust me, it pays better than this.”

“A job? Why?”

“Because I think you would be good at it. Because I am a firm believer in the policy of hiring the people you can’t fight. Because I want to keep a watch on you.” I snorted. He looked me in the eyes, he didn’t flinch. He wasn't afraid. Neither was I. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not every day that a Egyptian deity walks into my house and offers me a job. Eh, Osiris?”

He smiled. “You’re right. It’s not every day an Egyptian deity offers a job to an Aztec deity. You should celebrate.”

The sun was sinking lower now, I could feel the need to shift press tight against my bones. I wanted to protest that I wasn’t an Aztec deity, that I’d never been, that it had been someone else, but time was wasting. “So sell me.”

“I hire you as an FBI agent, give you a partner, you get to work on dangerous cases and get to kill dangerous people with limited repercussions. We’re a relatively new branch of the FBI, one made up of entirely supernaturals to deal with supernaturals and supernatural threats. It has a regular pay, benefits, and can get you into a better house then this.”

“Do you have to be registered?”

“Yes, I myself am registered as fae.”

I thought for a moment. Being FBI would gall the Other, and perhaps give my Human a reason to fight, to struggle, to win. To realize that she was actually on the side of the good guys for once. “Fine, mark me down as fae. Write me under Shadow Creature.” The last beams of sunlight disappeared, my shift took me. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’t take long, but when I looked up, Osiris was gone.

I huffed, flicked my tail, and left for my run.


End file.
